Pushed to the Brink
by yung mango
Summary: A new evil arises soon after the Dragonborn's defeat of Alduin. One that threatens to shatter the fragile peace of Tamriel and thrust the land into total war.
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome! Welcome! yung mango here! Here's my first fic on the site.**

Camilla's jolted open, a distant thump slightly shaking her room and waking her up. She groaned in exasperation as she sat up and wondered if it was another one of her brother Lucan's strange wares. Another groan arose when another thump resounded in the house, this time originating from outside. The young Imperial climbed out of bed begrudgingly before dragging herself down the stairs to the shop. A normal person would've been at a loss for words at the scene before them. Luckily for Camilla, her past year was anything but. Her brother, Lucan, was chatting amicably with another Imperial in Legion armour. The two friends had no reason to look strange to anyone; it was the entourage of the Legionnaire that was outlandish. Standing behind man was a small following of grim looking adventurers. The diversity of the group was enough cause for one to stop and stare, and that was usually the reaction when they were seen walking down the streets. Two Nords stood off to the side, one a woman, the other a man. Both were clad in sturdy steel armor and heavily armed. Near the doorway, a Redguard in leathers menacingly sharpened a wickedly large axe. Another pair of warriors sat next to them, also in armor and similarly armed. One was an Orc, the other, a Khajiit. Behind them, and to the back of the shop stood Faendal, Camilla's old friend and one-time lover. A smile lit up his face when he saw her and he waved merrily when Camilla smiled back. Sitting close by was another pair, these two mages instead of the warriors most of the group consisted of. A Dark Elf who was conversing in hushed tones with another Imperial, both in flowing robes and hoods. The Imperial looked up and seeing Camilla on the stairway, winked at her, earning him a slap on the back of the head from Faendal. The whole shop was filled to the brim with conversation, and the constant clanking of armour ensured that they weren't the ones making the noise. The soldier talking to her brother turned to her at the sound of her arrival. His grizzled face brightening at the sight of her.

"Camilla! It's so good to see you again!" he exclaimed loudly. She couldn't resist the urge to laugh at his sudden change of mood and rushed to hug him.

"Marcus! I'm glad you're here." she answered. Camilla smiled warmly as they pulled apart. Lucan watched on in amusement as his sister and good friend greeted each other. It was no secret that the Dragonborn was the man who stood before him. It was also well-known that Riverwood was where he visited most to sell the loot he gained from his travels to Lucan. It was a deal formed during the first couple of meetings between Marcus and Lucan and it had grown into a strong friendship. The Dragonborn had taken to the Riverwood Trader almost immediately and the constant trade within the town because of the pair had increased the town's size and economy. Both of which Lucan was grateful for. Camilla sat down on one of the chairs by the fire as she caught up with the group of adventurers. They all spoke openly, a sense of family surrounding them.

"Oh, the things I could tell you about the last bandit fortress we cleared! So, there we were…" Marcus continued animatedly as he explained his latest exploit to Lucan. Camilla sat back and contentedly hummed while she listened. Her eyes shot open when she heard the thud again. Around her, the room stilled, assuring her that she wasn't the only one hearing it. A second thud, this one shaking the shop. What followed next chilled her to the bone. Muffled screaming could be heard from outside. The group clambered to their feet and rushed outside to the main road of Riverwood. They all froze at the sight as they gathered at the porch of the Trader. Alvor's forge and house was ablaze as he frantically tried to pull his daughter and wife out of the front door. The Orc and the Dark Elf mage immediately rushed across the street filled with people to assist. Camilla watched the panicked stampede occurring on the street before her, noticing how many of townspeople were lugging wagons filled with valuables and belongings. She wondered where the fire on Alvor's, and many other's, houses had come from. Her question was answered as she watched a flaming stone crashed into the roof of Alvor's house, silencing the yelling inside. The blacksmith's desperate cries cut through the noise of the evacuation. The Dark Elf and the Orc were in the process of pulling him back when he broke free and knelt before the collapsed door, the defeat obvious in his posture.

"Camilla! Camilla! We need to get you out of here now!" Marcus's voice shocked her out of her dazed stupor. She looked over at Lucan who was throwing several crates onto a wagon nearby, no doubt filled with some valuables in order to restart their business. A wane smile stretched across Camilla's face. That was her brother alright, always so business-minded. She could vaguely feel Marcus's hands around her waist as he hoisted her onto the back of the wagon. The Imperial giggled softly as she thought of how many times she had fantasized about her current position. She could hear Marcus yelling at Lucan over the screaming of fleeing townspeople.

"Leave! Get out of here! Run to Whiterun and warn Balgruuf. Skyrim needs to know!" he said, the anxious undertones of his voice contrasting his calm expression. Lucan nodded at Marcus grimly. Camilla felt the wagon begin to move and realized what was going on a few moments too late.

"Lucan!" she yelled, frantically pointing at Marcus's rapidly receding figure, "We can't leave him! What're you doing?" Lucan's pained face told her that there would be no arguing.

"He knows what he has to do. The best thing that we can do is make sure that his sacrifice is not in vain and warn everyone of what is coming. Now keep your head down!" he yelled suddenly, as few chunks of wood from a nearby burning house fell into the wagon. Camilla's eyes widened furiously as she heard her brother.

"We are not leaving Marcus! Turn this wagon around right now so we can go back and get him," she said with a dangerous edge to her voice. "Besides, what're we running from? More Stormcloaks? We've dealt with them before. Marcus told us what to do and it definitely wasn't run for our lives!" Lucan turned to her, a mixture of emotions on his face.

"If it were anyone else, we would've stayed Camilla. But it's not. Didn't you see the soldiers? There's no way we could've done anything. Gods damned Thalmor." He said, pain evident in his tone. Thalmor? Is that who…? Camilla turned back towards Riverwood and saw the smoke rising from it. This time, she couldn't stop the tears from rolling down her face.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," Marcus swore under his breath as he ran through the streets of Riverwood. What were they doing here? Why now, of all times? His friends followed close behind as they sped towards the southern edge of town. Down the road, in the distance, golden clad figures could be seen marching doggedly towards the town.

"Faendal, I want you on that wall. Tell me how much time we have until they get here. Ghorbash, Ahtar, come with me. We're gonna find any survivors and pull them out. Brelyna and Marcurio, see what you can do about putting out those fires. Kharjo, protect them. Let's go!" he said. The adventurers were quick to follow the orders, his experience and leadership pushing them into action. Marcus and the two were in the process of lifting a wooden beam off of a Nord when Faendal's voice rang out from the wall.

"We have about ten minutes!" Marcus cursed once again. They dragged the Nord out and he promptly got up and ran in the opposite direction, earning a few frustrated glares from his saviors. Steam rose from the mill as Brelyna and Marcurio fought to keep the fire at bay. Several workers from inside burst out and rushed away. A house nearby collapsed from the burning weight, showering Marcus in sparks. A sudden feeling of fear lanced through his body. They were _here_. In Skyrim. Out of the places those damn elves could've chosen to attack. It had to be _here_. Why? He stowed away those thoughts for later as another cry for help resonated from underneath another collapsed house. After they pulled another person from the rubble, Faendal appeared at the wall, bow in hand. A few arrows in his quiver were missing. He leapt down and ran towards the centre of town. The steady march of the elves was audible of the roar of the fire. Marcus's eyes widened. They were already so close! Had time really gone that fast? By the time the rest of the company was gathered, a haughty voice floated through the rubble.

"Check the ruins for survivors. Execute them if they put up any fight. And find the damn Bosmer who shot me!" Faendal grinned sheepishly at the description. Marcus motioned for them to take cover behind the nearby inn. Normally, the clanking of their armoured warriors would have given them away but the noise of the blaze coupled with the yelling of the Thalmor blotted it out. They hunkered down, Ghorbash careful to put the young man on his shoulders down.

"We gotta get out of here, fast. Kharjo, you and Ahtar take point. Eliminate anyone who tries to stop us. Faendal watch our tail. Lydia'll cover you. The rest of us, keep an eye out." Marcus said urgently. Everyone nodded in assent. Together, they stood up and rushed down one of the side roads that led to the bridge. They were about to turn a corner when a Thalmor soldier appeared from around it. Golden eyes widened and his mouth opened in alarm when a Kharjo's shield bashed into his chest, effectively silencing him. The elf slumped to the ground, coughing up blood. The rest of them didn't stop to look as they passed him. They were almost at the bridge when a little girl cried out from inside a burning house. Marcus turned and saw several Thalmor soldiers jogging towards it. Marcus almost screamed in frustration. He turned longingly to the bridge, their only way out. The rest of the company stood still, watching with bated breath. The Imperial turned to them, anger written across his battle-worn face.

"Well? What're you waiting for? Let's get that kid!" They nodded in assent, fierce grins spreading throughout them. Just as the Thalmor soldiers were about to open the door to the burning house, a green battering ram smashed into two of them, putting them out of the fight. Ghorbash's roar echoed through the town, no doubt attracting more enemies. Ahtar was quick to follow, swinging his axe in a wide arc, simultaneously cutting through two more. Several other Thalmor arrived at the battle and were immediately forced into a defensive formation as the combined barrage of magic and arrows eliminated half their force. Brelyna turned to Marcus and nodded, giving him the all clear.

"Go! We'll take care of them," he heard her say as he burst through the door and into the blaze.

Almost instantaneously, smoke washed across his face, choking his breathing. He swore violently, covering his mouth and nose with his hands. The girl's voice sounded out again, causing him to wildly swing his eyes around the house. _Where the hell was she?_

"If I were a scared little girl in a fire, where would I be hiding?" he asked out loud. The answer was glaringly obvious. He ran to the only bed still intact and checked underneath. A small girl was curled up on her side, clutching something to her chest. Marcus could hear her whimpers over the roar of the fire.

"Kid! We need to get outta here! Come into my arms," he said encouragingly. His friendly tone was immediately erased when the girl promptly slashed him across his cheek with the knife she had been keeping to her chest.

"Ow, what the _fuck?_ Alright, that's it, you're coming with me," he yelled as he grabbed her waist forcefully and slung her over his shoulder. The young child only made things harder as she writhed and howled, unable to do anything else as she had already broken her knife on the back of Marcus's armour. Smoke filled his senses as he stumbled to the door. Tears swam across his vision and his throat scratched incessantly. Marcus collapsed against the door in a heap, knocking it down in the process. The irritation eased a little as the smoke from inside billowed into the surroundings. Still in a daze, he stood and walked slowly in the direction of his friends' muffled voices. An arrow bounced off his chest, shocking him out of his addled state. He groaned in frustration as he realized that he was right in the middle of a firefight. Wait a minute… _Wasn't that one of Faendal's arrows?_ He turned angrily towards his friends, a murderous look on his face.

"Gods damn it, Faendal! How?" Marcus roared as he pointed to the arrow that had almost killed him. The elf in question instantly turned tail, hopped on one of the horses waiting near the bridge, and left. Remembering that that _was_ the plan in the first place, Marcus decided to kill him later. He sprinted over to another one of the horses leapt on, not bothering to go through his mental checklist before riding one. The rest of his friends followed, firing bolts of lightning and arrows behind them wildly. The Thalmor behind them gave up trying to hit them after they had crossed the bridge, the sound of their hooves fading into the distance. It was soon replaced again with the crackling of the fire around the Elven soldiers. As Marcus quickly glanced at the abandoned town, he could see the Thalmor soldiers leaving and mobilizing back to where they came from. He sincerely hoped that they were the only ones. A small voice in his head told him that they weren't. It said there were more. It said that it was only the beginning.

 **Aaaaaaand that's it for the first chapter! I'm actually super excited for this story because it's based off an idea I've had for a super long time and just haven't gotten around to putting it to paper. I have planned the general plot of it and I do intend on it being long. The only problem is that I'm not used to typing so much and coupled with going to one of the top high schools in America, it's going to be hard for me to write so much. I also have no idea how some authors write chapters that are like 7k words long which is a goal that I want to reach. How do you even…? Any way you guys could offer advice on this problem would really help because I really want this to be as long and as enjoyable for you as possible. This is not my first fic (the first ones were all disasters), but I'm still getting used to writing out the chapters and working on flow and stuff like that. Also, I'd really appreciate it if you guys would give me some tips on formatting and the like. For example, double spacing, line breaks, and how uploading on this site works. On the same note, I'd be extremely grateful if you would take some time to give some constructive criticism because right now, I have absolutely no experience in writing stories. None. Nada. mango out.**


	2. Chapter 2

**yung mango here! This time, I wanted to focus on making the chapter as long as possible and get my metaphorical legs warmed up. Hope you all enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Elder Scrolls series (What's up with these? Do I have to do this every chapter? Everyone else does it for some reason.)**

Marcus's teeth clenched as Brelyna stood over him, her face close to his. Her dark fingers worked methodically and with practiced ease as she sewed his wound. The cut on his face had already begun to ooze pus by the time they had managed to find a place to camp for the night. Soon after dismounting, Marcus had snatched a wineskin off of Marcurio's horse and poured some of it onto the gash, much to the mages chagrin. A sharp pain on his cheek caused him to wince again, causing a tut-tut from Brelyna.

"Don't move, you're only making this harder and more painful for yourself." Marcus huffed in annoyance, shifting in place.

"You can't expect me to stay still, woman. You're pushing a damn needle into my face." The words caused more pain in his cheek. He tried to hide is reaction to it but, judging from how Brelyna rolled her eyes in exasperation, it hadn't worked well. Marcus decided with a few grumbles to stay silent for the rest of the process. After that, the wound was closed in no time. Marcus turned towards the rest of his friends who were snickering quietly in the background.

"What're you looking at? If I recall, I was the only one who ran into the house to get the girl. I didn't see anyone else decide to accompany me," At this, the smiles only grew wider.

"And didn't you come out with a new cut? Strange, it almost looks like as if a knife had been dragged down your cheek. For some reason you keep insisting that it was stray wood from the house that had fallen onto you." Lydia said, trying hard to keep her laughter in check. Marcus's hurt expression only made it harder.

"It _was_ wood. Now shut up. This topic of conversation is obsolete," he retorted. His eyes trailed to the hellion in question before turning away. Looking at her now would only give him away. Not that they already knew what had happened anyways.

"Alright, you're all set," said Brelyna, "Try not put too much stress on it okay?" Marcus nodded his head, his mind on other things.

"Okay, okay," he said after catching the Dark Elf glaring at him. She obviously didn't expect him to make any effort in not reopening it. He absentmindedly scratched at a small dent in his armor as the rest of them went to set up camp. Marcus watched as Faendal looked around furtively before walking into the woods. _Eh, probably to go piss_ , Marcus dismissed easily. He had complete faith in his companions. Much less could be said about the elf's aim however. His eyes wandered again to the little girl he had rescued. She sat on a log, her arms folded. Her eyes glowered at anybody who walked close while they prepared the campsite. The knife she had wielded hours before had long since broken, but she clutched it more tightly than any other girl would've held a stuffed animal. Her dress was torn at the sleeves revealing her grimy arms. Her hair was tangled within itself, which was most certainly painful, but she showed no signs of it. She wasn't bound. The young child had nothing stopping her from leaving but she didn't make any moves to. Marcus blinked as she locked eyes with his and glared at him. The menacing look shocked him out of his reverie. Realizing he was staring, he almost muttered an apology before stopping himself. Why would he need to apologize? He saved the girl's life for Divine's sake! Grumbling, he moved towards the pack on his horse while Lydia watched on in amusement.

"She seems like quite the strong one. Hell, I'm sure she could kick your ass if she was closer to our ages," she observed, causing another burst of low grumbling from Marcus. Lydia chuckled slightly, shaking her head as her Thane began to set up his tent. Setting up camp was a quick process. Marcus and Ghorbash's experience with the Legion and the whole group's time spent out in the wilds of Skyrim ensured that they had gone through the routine time and time again. In no time at all, eight small tents were erected against an even smaller campfire. Marcus had ordered it, not wanting to alert any Thalmor of their location because of the smoke. Presently, most of them sat around the fire, chewing reluctantly on hard ration bread. The fire was too small for any form of cooking and was only meant to provide warmth, much to Faendal's dismay. The elf had disappeared a half hour earlier and had just arrived with a brace of rabbits only to find no way of cooking them.

They had decided to stop riding when the sun finally set. The path down to Whiterun was winding and long so they weren't able to go as fast as Marcus had wanted. The group still made good progress, however, and they had stopped just in time to see a potential place to sleep. The site was perfect. It was a small clearing in the forest right at the foot of the mountain. The small elevation gave perfect sight into the surrounding forest and would also be an advantage should anything attack them. The campsite wasn't too far from the road that led to Whiterun. Their horses were tied to the nearby trees. Hopefully, they were far enough from any Thalmor scouts. The last thing they needed was a rude awakening. Marcus sighed as the fire crackled softly.

Only when they had time to sit down and rest did the events of the day come rushing back into Marcus's head. The Thalmor had attacked Riverwood. First off, _the Thalmor_. The fact that the elves had made a hostile move towards a Nord settlement was significant on its own. That, coupled with the fact that it was Riverwood of all places that they targeted was downright suspicious. His mind whirled as he considered the possibilities and implications behind the sudden aggression. Marcus was pretty sure there wasn't a Thalmor camp anywhere near Whiterun _or_ Falkreath Hold for that matter. He was only aware of the Thalmor Embassy located south of Solitude, having infiltrated the place himself. How the large group of the elves had managed to travel from there all the way down to the Jerall Mountains without alerting anyone was beyond him. His chewing slowed as the dilemma presented itself. He was absolutely certain that there were more than the force that had burned down Riverwood. After all, they wouldn't move to attack then retreat without someone guarding their encampment. Even if the numbers that had attacked were all of them, there was no way they could've travelled all the way from up north without leaving rumours and stories in their wake. Stories in Skyrim travelled fast. Marcus remembered the days when he first learned he was Dragonborn. All it took was a few ears and a couple taverns. Before he knew it, he couldn't go anywhere in Skyrim without someone recognizing him. It was both an advantage and a bad luck charm. Being an Imperial Dragonborn was hard enough during this time, but one that had history with the Legion? Let's just say he's had his fair share of drunken brawls.

Which was exactly what troubled him. It was actually impossible for a force that large and armed for war to march all the way from the embassy to here without attracting attention. How had he not heard of it beforehand? In addition, there was no way that they could not have taken the main roads. Travelling through the wilds with that many was begging for disaster. The marching coupled with the ensured harassment from bandits and the dangerous Skyrim wildlife was enough to dissuade anyone from marching through there. No doubt, the supplies and shiny golden armour would've also prevented them from moving unseen anywhere. Even in the darkest of nights, the Elven armour reflected the smallest of light sources easily. Considering those factors, Marcus ruled out the theory that the Thalmor had travelled through the wilds in order to avoid detection. He sighed, hoping an explanation would present itself. The rest of the group was silent, probably contemplating what happened like him. Marcus turned to Lydia.

"How far are we from Whiterun? We need to make Balgruuf aware of this as soon as possible." Lydia nodded in assent. Meanwhile, Benor pulled a map out of his pack and handed it to Brelyna. The elf sniffed in disdain, most likely at the Nord's inability to read. Sighing, she unfolded it and gazed at it intently. Her answer came not long after.

"We're still a day away from Whiterun . Only if we leave early tomorrow, though. I hope you're not planning on staying in this area for any longer." The words were followed with a pointed look towards the Imperial in question. Marcus rolled his eyes.

"Why would I? We need to get the word out anyways. Besides, there's nothing left for us here." The words instantly dampened the lighthearted mood in the camp. A sigh erupted from Benor who was most likely remembering how the town was destroyed. The silence was almost deafening. Marcus cleared his throat, startling everyone around him.

"Don't dwell on it. The best thing we can do right now is make sure people are aware of this, okay? Don't let it affect you. We need to be focused before we'll be ready to make our next move." Benor nodded slowly, seeing the reason behind his friend's words.

"I still can't believe it though. Why there of all places? What value did Riverwood hold?" he asked. Marcus silently agreed. What _was_ so important about RIverwood anyways? He couldn't think of a reason. He turned to Faendal who was sitting next to him, still trying to figure out what he was going to do with the rabbits.

"You've hunted around these parts a lot right?" he asked. "Do you know of any secret Thalmor camps here?" Faendal shot him a scandalized look.

"Is it because I'm a Bosmer?" Marcus was quick to deny the implications behind the statement. The elf just sighed instead and shook his head.

"I would've told you if I knew. There's no way I would keep it a secret if it threatened the safety of Camilla." Marcus nodded, seeing no reason for him to be lying. Even though he's had his fair share of woman chasing after him, Faendal still did his best to stay loyal to Lucan's sister.

"One thing's for sure. They were there for a reason," stated Brelyna somberly. The rest of them went silent as they wondered what the reason was. Lydia stood up, done with her food. She stretched luxuriously, her armour clanking slightly.

"Well, if we can't figure it out now, we'll probably think of why tomorrow, when our minds have had a decent night's sleep. My teacher always said that a sharp mind is just as good as a sharp sword," she said. Soon after, she walked into her tent tossing a "Good night" over her shoulder. Marcus nodded. It was already dark when they had stopped. It was probably late by now.

"I like the sound of that. Especially the sharp part," murmured Ahtar, grinning wickedly. Benor warily scooted away from him after the Redguard stood and followed Lydia's actions. The rest of the group continued with their good nights until only the girl and Brelyna were left. Faendal had volunteered to take first watch. There were no words traded between the two, but a feeling of camaraderie was felt. Brelyna smiled at the girl.

"You can sleep in my tent if you'd like. I have enough room for the both of us. It's getting late. Let's go," she said. The elf reached out invitingly, her normally serious tone gone. This time it was replaced with a warmer and a kinder voice. She tried to make her blood red eyes show some form of emotion. After all, the eyes of Dark Elves weren't used to showing things such as happiness and warmth. The girl snarled at her, baring her teeth ferociously. The Dark Elf frowned. All feeling of companionship between them instantly vanished.

"Fine then. Sleep outside. See what I care," she grumbled. Still muttering, she thrust another flame into the fire causing it to roar a little louder and the little girl to flinch. Brelyna grinned triumphantly then marched to her tent, flicked the flap open, and walked in. The girl relaxed slightly when the elf finally left. She shivered slightly and moved closer to the fire. She curled up, closing her eyes before her breathing steadied.

-Line Break-

Marcus lay in his bedroll, his hands behind his head. The other adventurers could be heard from the tents beside his, rustling in their sleep. He rolled over, unable to sleep. The nights of Skyrim were notoriously cold. Since the province was up north, the weather was generally a lot cooler than the warm heartlands of Cyrodill. However, on this specific night, it wasn't the cold that kept him awake. Deciding that it would take too much effort to fall asleep, he got up and wandered outside of the tent. His hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword as he walked out. Couldn't be too careful after all.

His eyes widened when the cold from outside rushed past him as soon as he exited. Marcus's bare arms immediately got goosebumps. He was about to turn back and go into the tent when he saw a small form curled up next to the empty fire pit. His boots shuffled quietly against the grass as he walked closer. The Imperial's eyebrow arched when he realized that it was the girl who he had rescued. His surprise grew even more when he saw that the girl wasn't shivering at all. _Must be the Nord blood in her_ , he thought wonderingly. The hardy folk never failed to impress with their stubborn willpower. And resistance to cold. Begrudginly, he walked into his tent and came out with a blanket. When the blanket was draped over her, she curled up even more tightly, wrapping the blanket around her. Marcus grinned. She wasn't so bad after all.

All that time, Faendal watched on smiling slightly to himself. Marcus turned and walked towards him.

"I'll never cease to be jealous of these Nords. They've no idea how lucky they are to be able to live in this weather. It's not even winter yet! And why was she left outside anyways? Did she not want to go in with anyone?" Marcus complained. Faendal shrugged. He had no reason to complain as he was wrapped in a blanket also. The Elf moved over on the rock he was sitting on to let Marcus sit down.

"Beautiful night," Marcus said. It was true. Secunda and Masser's dull light washed the forest with a slight glow. The stars shined brightly in the absence of the usual clouds. The light from the skies made the snow on the side of the mountain sparkle ethereally. They sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the view.

"Couldn't sleep again, Marcus?"

"No," he replied, "I'm sorry about that question earlier. I didn't mean anything by it. I just that since you were a hunter-"

"It's okay. I was just teasing. Besides, it happens a lot," Faendal interrupted him. The answer caused Marcus to look at him strangely.

"You mean people assuming you're part of the Dominion since you're a Wood Ef?" he asked. Faendal nodded distantly. He was no stranger to the scandal caused by his species. It didn't help that he was in Skyrim, one of the lands most intolerant towards elves in general. Marcus shook his head.

"That's not right. You're nothing like those elves."

"Except in appearance. And to them, that's all that matters," Faendal countered, "Why didn't you just let Brelyna heal you instead of sewing the wound? It would've been a lot easier."

"I don't know now that you mention it. I suppose that the girl really made an impression on me. Physically and mentally." Marcus answered, smiling at his joke, "Can you imagine how fierce she must be? I mean, she's stuck in the middle of a Thalmor attack inside a burning house and she attacks the first person she sees. If I was her age and in her situation, I'd be absolutely terrified." Marcus looked over at the girl with a newfound respect.

"She must have gone through a lot beforehand," Faendal murmured. A companionable silence washed over them. Sighing, Marcus stood up walked over to the girl. He crouched down beside her and slowly slid his arms underneath her side.

"Good night, Faendal," he said as he carried the girl into his tent. The Elf chuckled as he thought of Marcus's face when Faendal would wake him up for next watch.

While Marcus was definitely a battle-hardened warrior, it was his compassionate side that impressed the elf the most. He remembered fondly the first time he had met the Dragonborn. Of course, it was before anyone had known that he was of Dragon blood. If Faendal had known, he probably wouldn't have had the guts to ask him for the favor that brought them together. Back then, Faendal had been a foolish young elf. Blinded by jealousy, he had tried to slander his competitor for Camilla. The Wood Elf had given a fake letter to the Dragonborn and asked him to give it to Camilla. Faendal wrote it in Sven's name, hoping that Camilla would choose Faendal over the bard. He remembered thinking that the plan was foolproof. A chuckle burst through his lips. Definitely not, Dovahkiin-proof though. Faendal could still clearly remember the feeling of Camilla's hand dragging across his face and her ferocious glare. The Dragonborn had given her the letter and explained the entire thing instead of saying it was from Sven. Marcus had said afterwards to Camilla that she should still give both of them a chance. This soon led to Faendal winning her heart. The entire fiasco was a huge turning point in Faendal's life. Soon after, he had joined the Dragonborn and helped him save the world from Alduin's maw. The Thalmor attack of Riverwood was almost child's play in comparison. However, Faendal still couldn't suppress a shiver of nervousness when he thought of the implications behind the bold act.

Hopefully, it was just a small case. Hopefully, it was something that they could deal with easily.

-Line Break-

Jarl Igmund sighed explosively as he rubbed his temples. It was nearing the end of a long day on the Mournful Throne. Another long circus of constantly putting down Silver-Blood attempts of seizing power and dealing with Forsworn inside and outside the city. The young Jarl could only wish that Markarth's impenetrable stone walls could keep out the dirty savages who sought to slaughter as many Nords as possible. At least the Thalmor were helpful in putting down insurrection, even though they were Elves.

"How long do I have until I can retire, Uncle?" he asked the older man who sat on a chair on his right. Raerek looked at him strangely before shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, it's impossible to tell the position of the sun while in the Keep, my Jarl," he responded. Igmund's eye twitched at the title. Even though he had asked his uncle constantly to not address him as such, the old man had insisted on it. A guard passing by the entrance to the throne room overheard the exchange.

"I just came from the outside watch, sir. It's four in the afternoon." Igmund nodded his thanks and dismissed him. The Jarl's soft cloak brushed against the back of the Throne as he leaned back and closed his eyes for a second. He wondered what his cook was preparing for dinner tonight. His nose twitched as he faintly smelled the scents wafting from the kitchen down the hall. A faint smile grew on his face. He could almost taste the juicy slabs of meat and fresh vegetables Anton was so fond of cooking.

"…Igmund? Igmund!" Raerek said. The Jarl shot up, eyes wide. The years of tutelage underneath his uncle rushed back to him as he responded quickly.

"Yes, sir?" Igmund's answer drew a snort from Raerek.

"Get your head out of the clouds, boy! You have a job to do!" he said. The scolding brought a rush of blood to Igmund's cheeks. Igmund's back straightened in resistance.

"And I _am_ doing it, Uncle. Perhaps you prefer that it was you on this throne, hmm?" he retorted. The Jarl couldn't help but feel a small sense of satisfaction at seeing the old man shrink back in deference. After all, Raerek knew what the punishment was for treason.

"Of course not, my Jarl." This time, the title didn't bother Igmund the slightest.

Before he could say anything else, a Nord approached the throne room, bowing respectfully as he came nearer. The man's clothing showed him to be one of the miners. Whether he worked as a prisoner or a free man, was unknown. Igmund wrinkled his nose at the smell emanating from the worker. He would have to enquire about the hygiene in the rest of the city and see that it was taken care of.

"Jarl Igmund, I come with a request," the Nord's heavy brogue made it hard to decipher the meaning, "The overseer of the smelter is working us too hard again. He beats us black and blue if we can't manage to produce enough silver. Normally, I wouldn't complain, but at this rate, he'll work us to death."

The man's begging drew out a sigh from young Jarl. The complaint was meaningless. If only the worker knew how vital that silver was to Markarth's economy. _Actually_ , the Jarl thought as a small smile grew on his face, _Maybe a lesson in money might be just the right way to send the man off_. A few steps down the stairs brought him down to the Nord's level. He put an arm around the man and gestured into the space before them, making the worker shift awkwardly.

"Tell me…?" Igmund looked at the man questioningly.

"Hoag."

"Tell me Hoag, what is Markarth known for?" The man answered almost immediately.

"Blood and silver, m'lord." Instantly, Hoag covered his mouth for fear of angering the Jarl. He looked at Igmund expectantly as if he would be executed because of his careless words.

"Don't worry, Hoag. I am well aware of the saying and the meaning behind it. The Silver-Bloods are no reason for me to be angry. But, there _is_ truth behind the words. Markarth's silver is the best in Skyrim," Igmund continued. The worker's shoulders relaxed as he heard the Jarl's words.

"Now, what would be the main source of money for Markarth?" Igmund asked. Hoag thought for a moment, causing Igmund to roll his eyes.

"The silver, m'lord," Igmund's face lit up at the answer. He grabbed the shoulders of the worker, inwardly wincing at the dirt that was getting on his hands and clothes.

"Exactly! That silver is that's keeping the city _alive_. Without it, we wouldn't even have food to line our bellies!" The Jarl explained excitedly.

"And you, Master Hoag, are also amongst the most vital people in Markarth. Without your hard work, this beautiful city would fall apart," he continued, "And because of that, I expect you to do your job well and to the best of your ability. Markarth needs you, Hoag."

"But, sir-"

"No buts!" Igmund said, scolding him like a small child, "I expect you to be back at the smelter ready to work tomorrow!" The man nodded hesitantly before bowing and heading out of the throne room.

Raerek shook his head at the scene, but stopped the motion when Igmund turned back around to sit on the throne. With a grunt, Igmund slipped back onto the stone. Raerek began to speak.

"You know, the labourers are the backbone of any great city and-"

"I know, Uncle. I am well aware of how to run Markarth. I'm not the Jarl for nothing." Igmund interrupted. For some reason, he just couldn't stop thinking about dinner. Hopefully, nothing else would bother him before and ruin his appetite. After all, he needed his rest and strength. Igmund turned to one of the guardsmen standing at the entrance of the room.

"Guard, go ask Anton what he is serving for dinner," he ordered. The smell had grown stronger since he had last thought of it. The intricate scents wafted through the throne room, conjuring up images in Igmund's mind of the Breton's famous cooking.

"Yes, sir." The guard walked away immediately, heading in the cook's direction. Igmund stood and paced the room impatiently, waiting for the guard's return. All the while, Raerek watched on, his eyes tinted with sadness. Perhaps, one day, his nephew would grow to be a strong leader. He could only hope that that day would come before a time in which Igmund would be forced to become one.

 **Aaaaaand there we have it! Surprisingly, writing this many words took forever. It was so frustrating to have this whole plot set up only to have it blocked by inability to write. I didn't even get close to reaching the goal I set earlier! If any of you guys have advice, I'd appreciate it as I'm in desperate need of some.**


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